


Reaching the Breaking Point

by kind_soul



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Blood, Injury, Other, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-19
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-27 03:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5031622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kind_soul/pseuds/kind_soul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it all gets a little bit too much.</p><p>In which, Ed breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is my first fanfiction to ever be posted on AO3, so hopefully you like it. Don't forget to read the tags for triggers. Enjoy!

When Ed wakes, the sky is still dark, tainted with blue. He bites his tongue when he realizes what day it is, and the fact he has woken up by choice. He should be having nightmares. He should be plagued by the black monster that was his mother, the suit of armor that is his brother- who should  
be blaming him, and leaving him to find his body- and the little girl he couldn't even save. He clenches his hands, and takes a breath to calm himself. He knows this is the karma that he has been cheating for years, and every single year, on the anniversary of the day he had committed taboo, without fail, the karma comes to take its toll.

Equivalent exchange, huh? Ed thinks bitterly.

On the only day, he wants, needs, craves the nightmares that haunt him any other day, they go away, leaving him with dreamless sleep and peaceful mornings. In a way, he appreciates the nightmares, probably the only thing in the world that will accept his actions, as his actions, his responsibility, his mistake. They agree that he should blame himself, he should take responsibility, he should be the one to suffer, and bear the guilt and pain alone. He takes another deep breath and begins to acknowledge his surroundings.

Al is seated by the door, immersed in a red, leather bound book. The clock chimes twice, signifying that it is the second hour of the morning, and he hurries out, leaving the red book open on the cold, wooden floor.

Ed takes the opportunity and pulls on his red coat, hot bothering to change out of the loose, black tank top and black pants he already has on.

He jumps out of the window, landing on the hard concrete, automail leg shaking slightly with the weight. He pulls the hood over his head, not bothering to tie his hair up, leaving the golden strands to sway in the wind. His boots are silent on the ground as he begins twisting and turning through the streets of Central.

He appreciates the complexity of the city, giving him the chance to stray from the prying, worrying eyes of his comrades. He licks his chapped lips when his stumps begin to ache, knowing that it will soon rain and that stress, automail, and rain never mix well. He just  
shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground as he walks past the closed shops.

He knows its selfish, to leave his friends to worry over his disappearance as he wallows in his guilt. He hates being selfish, and he manages to convince himself that his merely taking a walk in the early hours of the morning to relax. He knows he is lying to himself, and he knows that he should've stayed with Al and be strong for him, and be normal and pretend nothing is wrong, but its too hard,  
to look at his brother, and accept the fact that his brother doesn't blame him for the loss of his body.

He's being selfish again, and he knows it. It begins to rain, and he swallows the bile in his throat, but after a minute he leans against the wall and dry heaves, seeing as he didn't eat dinner. He never does, not today, nor the day before, nor the day after. His stomach is never able to take the guilt of eating on the day he took away that luxury from Al.

Ed stumbles into a dark alleyway. He has lost count how many times he has dry heaved, occasionally vomiting stomach acids, many times tempted to collapse, but pushing it away. He won't be found by his friends collapsed from exhaustion on the grimy streets of Central. He won't show weakness. Ed has worked too hard to let his strong reputation go to waste. They don't understand that the more they treat him as if he was a child, the more he wants it, the more he crumbles, the more he can't take it anymore.

He doesn't turn away, but instead walks straight to the crates at the end of alleyway. He doesn't know why, but the crates look so appealing to him. The sane part of his brain is telling him it's because the fatigue is crippling his logic. He transmutes his automail arm into a blade and opens the crate nearest to him open, driven by the exhaustion that is pushing him to his limits. His instincts are going wild, but they're veiled by the sheer tiredness that runs deep in his bones. Today is worse than most anniversaries. He's not usually as reckless as this, but maybe it's because of Nina, and the bitterness, the rage, the hurt that still churns in him, along with all the pent-up pain that he's carried since he was a child.

He doesn't know what he will find, and he knows it's dangerous, but he won't run away. He's too tired to do that. His blade cuts through the wood easily and he raises an eyebrow at the countless blades inside, shining in the golden light of the sun that had just risen. Ed picks a knife up in a trance, the steel blade glinting. He brings his flesh arm up to the light, and the blade slices easily through the pale skin, creating a shallow cut on his arm. He laughs in glee at the crimson blood flowing down his arm, and sighs in relief. it's a nice distraction from the burden that he carries internally.

He slides down, back to the wall, and makes another cut, and another cut, and another cut. His arm becomes completely littered with small cuts, and he frowns as he stops. The dull pain and sorrowful ache has returned. He shrugs and slits his wrist, the only part of his arm that has not fallen prey to the blood-covered blade, creating a deep cut. The pain and ache slinks away, giving way to a warm feeling that makes him shiver. Finding no space on his arm anymore, he rolls up his pant leg to reveal a pale white canvas, waiting to be painted with thick crimson.

He grins.

XXXXXXX

Colonel Roy Mustang does not expect to be shaken awake by the shrill ring of the telephone piercing the thick, morning fog on a sluggish Sunday. Nor does he expect the sound of Al's shy, hollow voice as it wails through the black phone, shrieking about Fullmetal, missing, gone, nowhere, Fullmetal? and anniversaries.

"Wait, wait, Alphonse," Roy says, cutting the younger boy off. "What happened?"

Al stops, and takes what sounds like a deep breath.

"Alright, well I was reading a book and I left so that Brother could leave and take a walk like he always does today-"

"What happened today?" Roy interrupts, confused and sleepy, having being woken up at the mere hour of 5'o clock in the morning.

There is a sharp pause before Al whispers a reply. "Today is the day we committed human transmutation,"

Roy curses, knowing this couldn't be good news. "Alright, please continue,"

"He usually comes back at 3, but it's 5 and I'm getting worried,"

His eyebrows furrow. What the hell was that kid was doing?

"I'll try my best to find him," he finally says, and places the phone back in its cradle. He picks it up again after a few seconds and dials a number seared into his soul.

"Hello?" his first lieutenant's voice is calm, steady, and collected, and it soothes him. He takes a breath.

"Fullmetal has gone missing," he tells her in a grave voice. He doesn't know why he's so worried. His subordinate has already gone missing many times before, and he's always returned relatively unscathed, but he has this gut feeling that after today, he won't be able to look at the boy in the same way again.

There is a pause at the other end of the line. "How many hours, sir?"

"Only 3. He's been missing since 2 in the morning," he replies, uncertain to where this is  
heading.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to call in the military search team, sir. The minimum requirement for hours missing to call in the search team is 32 hours," she informs him.

His temper rises significantly. "Go call in the crew, then!" he snaps, before taking a breath. "I'm sorry, just, please call in the others."

Riza pauses. "Sir, permission to speak freely?"

"Permitted," he agrees, running a hand through his face, leaning against the headboard of his bed.

"We'll find him, sir."

He allows a small smile.

"Thanks, Riza," he says sincerely, before placing the phone back into its cradle.

He sighs.

XXXXXXX

They are 6 hours in the search, and the rain is pouring down harder then they have ever seen.

Roy is doing everything he can, but it seems as is it is not enough. He is annoyed, tired, hungry, and  
frustrated out of his mind. The team is sending him glances when they think he can't see, but he  
can clearly feel their gazes on his hunched back. His chair is swiveled towards the window, and he's calling all his sources in, but he can't do a damn thing.

He stands suddenly, and all in his office looks at him. It's incredibly quiet, and the slightest sound  
makes them jump. He glances at his first lieutenant, and she nods, almost imperceptibly.

They walk out of the office in quiet synchronization. He pulls his blue coat on, takes his hat off the hat  
stand, and takes a deep breath as he opens the doors that leads out. He almost laughs at the irony  
of breathing. The very thing that keeps him alive, is the very thing that gives him the power to kill. Roy has already mulled over the thought of burning each member of the military search department, and whoever who made the limited requirement of 32 hours to call in the search team.

Anything could happen in 32 hours, hell, someone could die in a split second, and he should know.

Riza pulls a black umbrella over their heads, and gives him a small smile. He nods, and they walk  
into the rain.

XXXXXXX

They are not sure what to think when they hear the people whispering of a golden man, hunched in the 23rd alley of the quiet, shopping avenue near the busiest street of the city. Terror runs dominantly through their veins, and although the sky is turning dark, and their lungs and legs are giving up, the fear, the adrenaline, the sheer horror of what they don't know they will find, is the  
only thing pushing them forward.

They have long forgotten their black umbrella, and it lays  
abandoned somewhere along the side of the river. Their fingers are interlocked, but they don't care what other people are thinking.

When they finally reach the alley, they are in no way prepared for what they see.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to [tiara123458](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiara123458/pseuds/tiara123458) for inspiring me to finally update this. I'm sorry this is so late, and I can't guarantee this won't happen again on my other works, but I'll try :) Anyway, enjoy! By the way, I will definitely not update this again because I really like the way it ended. No spoilers, but it was open to interpretation yet it had a sense of closure. Tell me what you think. Thanks!

Reaching the Breaking Point (2)

 

The stench of blood and vomit is thick in the cold air. His golden hair hangs over his face like a curtain, and Roy doesn't even want to  _think_ about the alchemist's golden eyes.

 

He almost gags at the smell that penetrates his nose. He feels Riza’s hand trembling in his as they stare at the hunched figure at the end of the alley, and the blood that pools around him, and suddenly they're scared.

 

They stand there for a moment and they can't stop the pity and horror and, god _damn_ them, disgust that automatically reels them backwards a few steps. But they grit their teeth, and their interlocked hands squeeze each other, as their eyes meet with a silent promise. The first step is excruciating because this all happening too fast and too slow, and the rain pours harder, and even if they’ve endured the freezing rain, and the hurt, and the guilt for this, for some reason, they want to go back and forget all about it, and it  _sickens_ them that they’re so weak.

 

The next step is easier, and suddenly they start running because every step they take makes them want to run away. They near the boy, and everything else, the suspense, the horror, pity, disgust, seem like nothing, because they have reached the worst part.

 

His eyes are dead and wide, so much worse than when Roy had seen him after human transmutation, and tears stream down them like a waterfall. He was shaking when they saw him from afar, and they assumed he was crying, but this,  _this_ is so much worse. He's laughing quietly, looking down at his bloodstained hands, and his laugh, his  _goddamn_ laugh, it's a familiar one, one that Roy and Riza have heard too much already. It's the laugh of a killer, one that’s gone insane with bloodlust. Their shoes are stained with blood and vomit and mud, and they stare at the pale leg littered with deep cuts and small cuts and slits where they can see the bone underneath the layers of red muscle and crimson blood.

 

They kneel on the bloodied gravel near him and take in his appearance. His back is to the wall, his hair is down and his eyes, they aren't dull, but they're filled with an intensity, and an insanity, and it's obvious through his eyes that a barrier has been broken, a dam has cracked, that he's reached the breaking point. Ed's golden eyes, usually sparkling with mirth, and mischief, and sometimes, sadness, are now bottomless pits of madness and suffering and pain.

 

Tears are still running down his face and it sends shivers down their spines. His flesh arm is flowing with blood from the littered cuts fanning around the slit on his wrist. Blue and green pulsates around his wound, and Riza, who, despite all this, can sense that he needs medical help, and fast, because it's an infection, and she doesn't know how severe. A horrifying thought strikes her, that maybe they’re too late, maybe he’ll  _die_. She starts to feel a bit nauseous.

 

They glance at each other from the corner of their eyes, and Roy tentatively grips Ed's shoulders. They don't know what happens but suddenly he jolts and screams. It isn't a scream of hysteria, or laughter, but pure, unrestrained pain.

 

When Ed looks up at his superior, something has changed, because they're no longer crazed, and all that is left is pain. It seems as if Roy's hands had burned him back into reality (Roy doesn't appreciate the irony).

 

Ed attempts to curl up, hide, and do whatever he can to escape the prying eyes. But the minute he moves his leg, he can't stop the scream. He takes a breath and attempts to stand shakily, because  _this_ is exactly what he was trying to avoid. It's an insult to his pride that the person he wanted to avoid the most on this day, is the one that found him.

 

The Colonel and Lieutenant can only watch in pity (And later, they realize, how  _stupid_ it was for them to look at him in  _pity_ , of all things, when  _they_ should know, that pity was not appreciated).

 

"Fullmetal."

 

He doesn't listen and as he stands, his eyes dart for an escape.

 

"FULLMETAL!"

 

He's standing, and clutching his arm, attempting to limp away. They stand as well and their clasped hands have released each other. Roy wishes they hadn't. They expect he wouldn't be able to go far, but he defies their thoughts and expectations, like he always has, reaching the end of the alley and disappearing around the corner. They round the corner, walking briskly, and see Ed, at the end of the other street, collapsed and helpless on the cold ground.

 

"ED!"

 

XXXXXXX

 

Ed jerks awake and finds himself staring up at the lined, white roof of an ambulance.

 

His eyes dart and narrow, trying to find an escape. Through the fog in his mind, he faintly hears a voice.

 

"You're not escaping." It's the voice of the Colonel, tired, and in a tone he's never heard before (he faintly thinks that he hears a shake in it), and everything comes into sharp focus. Pain lines up through his flesh arm and leg, and he peers beside him.

 

His gold eyes meet with onyx and chocolate, before something is jammed in his arm and cold liquid enters his bloodstream, taking him under the influence of the sedative.

 

XXXXXXX

 

Al stays patiently in the waiting room, as the doctors evaluate his wounds.

 

"Don't expect him to live," they say, to the straight-faced colonel, before they enter the surgery room, decked in masks and green suits.

 

His only reply is a curt nod and salute, before he walks out, lieutenant a half step behind.

 

It's the early hours of the morning when the doctors walk out of the surgery rooms, blood splattered over them. Al would cringe if he could. They tell him they hope he survives the night. The doctors put him in the ICU and he looks so small, fragile, and  _not_ Fullmetal.

 

Al stays there for the rest of the night.

 

XXXXXXX

 

Sometimes, Al can fall into a state of sleep, not quite resting, but not in total awareness of his surroundings either. It’s the closest to sleep he can get and he can only do it when he sits for a long time, not focused on anything in particular (which, for him, is quite rare).

 

The white walls of the waiting room are suffocating and Al is halfway out of his mind, worrying, and wondering, and counting the hours. He’s so deep into his pool of anguish that he falls ‘asleep’.

 

He ‘wakes’ to panic. The only thing he can register is a flat line, before he's running, scared and disoriented. He hears: "CLEAR!" from the ICU, and he finally has a destination.

 

"Brother? BROTHER?" he yells, and he attempts to escape the nurses who are holding him back, but the Colonel comes before he can fight. "Colonel, what's happening?"

 

But he doesn't answer. Roy only pushes past the protesting nurses, who back down only because of a warning click resonates throughout the room from Riza's gun. When Al and Roy (with his faithful lieutenant not even an inch away) open the swinging doors to the ICU, they're met with pained golden eyes and bandages stained with crimson.

 

"Al!"

 

They're being pushed out, and this time they let them.

 

XXXXXXX

 

"He's awake," Al's uncertain voice floats through the receiver and Roy raises a brow.

 

"Good," is all he says before he slams the phone down.

 

He doesn't visit Ed, though.

 

Not until everyone else has. Not until he knows that Winry, and Grandma Rockbell has passed by. Not until he sees all the people in his office stand, one by one, and return with a melancholy expression tinged with sadness. And maybe he has a reason for that, one that doesn't have anything to do with his cowardice. Maybe, he doesn't.

 

"Blood is quite beautiful, isn't it?" Ed says quietly when Roy enters.

 

His hair is down and he faces the window. The said liquid drips through the IV line and into his bloodstream. Roy was told he needed 3 transfusions before he could stabilize. Roy doesn't doubt it. Ed's blood had  _pooled_ around him.

 

"Yes," he replies truthfully, because he really does think it's a beautiful color.

 

"Hmm," he hums, in agreement or disbelief, Roy doesn't know. "You don't look at me like they do. Why?" he says after a silence, and his voice is hard.

 

"Because you're no different from before, pipsqueak," Roy says. "Do you have any idea how much paperwork you would've caused me, brat?" It's a vain attempt at normality, and they both know it.

 

"Hmm," he hums again.

 

Roy leaves.

 

The days drone on, and Roy visits more and more. Their conversations are quiet and short, but they mean something to Ed. At least, Roy hopes.

 

XXXXXXX

 

"Why?" Roy is the first to speak.

 

Ed is confused. He's never done that before. The younger looks away as Roy explains in two words.

 

"Equivalent exchange," Roy's voice is gentle, but the effect is harsh, reminding him of his mistakes and promises formed and sealed with alchemy.

 

Ed knows that after all these days; it's what Roy deserves. It's what they  _both_ know Roy deserves, because they've both come from the same, difficult home, and they're both walking the same, rough road. Ed doesn’t know whether to hate him for manipulating him like that, or to appreciate Roy’s quiet patience and his clever plan. He wonders if Roy knows how much those conversations meant, and if they meant as much to Roy as it does to him. He hates him for it, but he knows that it’s their job to play a game of careful manipulation and risky operations.

 

"There-" his voice is shaking. His eyes burn. "Some-" he clears his throat. Mustang is patient, although his gaze burns into his side. "I-I try to be strong for Alphonse." he finally says, but he needs to pause, because these are things he's never voiced before, and  _why_ he's doing it, he doesn't know.

 

"I'm not strong enough, b-" he exhales. "But it's-it's enough for him, you know?" His next words are quick, like he's ashamed of them, and he needs them to get out. "And-and sometimes, I-I just  _can't_ , okay? I'm scared and worried and I need someone to hold onto and I don't want to need someone," his voice is strangled and he buries his face in his hands.

 

"He looks at me," his voice is low and steady, but softer than a whisper, and it seems as if the rage and regret and betrayal had spilled over from its pot, and it won't stop spilling until it's been emptied out. His sullen face is still buried in his hands, muffling his words. "like, like some sort of  _hero_ ," he spits the word out with disgust. "I can't stand it. I look at him everyday, and it reminds me of what I've done. He believes in me, but I don't even know if his body is still out there. And-and sometimes he doubts it. It's so  _hard_ ; to look at him and smile, and say I'll find his body. I'm not saying he shouldn't complain, I'm saying he should. He's been punished for something  _I_ made him do, for something  _I_ did. He's so selfless and I'm not. Everything I'm saying, it's all selfish, and self-centered, and this isn’t what he deserves.” His words are angry, and his tone is fierce and he needs to breathe for a moment because he’s so furious at himself. “It-it's even harder when he says he wants me to get back my arm and leg too, like he thinks I'll need them when I'm ready to give up my life for him." he sighs, too tired for someone his age, despite it all, and looks out the window, like he's given up.

 

"I'm-I'm only human, Colonel. It took me an arm and a leg and my brother's whole body for me to learn that. I joined the military for him, and I made a promise. I promised mom I wouldn't-I wouldn't break until Al was okay, and I was ready never to break because I was going to die for him. I'm ready to die Colonel, but not until Al is okay," he laughs bitterly, suddenly. Mustang is scared that he's been pushed too far, but he doesn't say anything. He's not afraid to admit that he's scared to say anything. "I didn't expect to live this long. I didn't want to. I was ready to die 3 years ago, but it's been more, and I don't deserve it," he turns, pulls his blanket up and lies down. He sighs. "Just-just go,"

 

Roy doesn't listen, just pulls up a chair, and sits. Ed doesn't seem to care. It's quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr!  
> \- write-baby-write (writing blog)  
> \- myteriuex (main blog)
> 
> Check me out on Fanfiction.net where all my old fics are!  
> -purplegirl2112

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked that. I will post the next one on the 28th of October.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr!   
> \- write-baby-write (writing blog)  
> \- myteriuex (main blog)
> 
> Check me out on Fanfiction.net where all my old fics are!  
> -purplegirl2112


End file.
